Still stories of life (or is it the lack thereof?) of a thirty-three-year-old grad student recently employed engaged happily married and with a one year old

Friday, July 27, 2007

Shirt and Boy

Dear R,

Last night, I was finally able to drag NY to go the Rec with me (and the New Rec Buddy). As soon as I donned on my choice of burnt orange with navy stripes on the neck and arms Cheers t-shirt and black crop exercise pants, NY vetoed the ensemble.

"What should I wear, then?" I said, succumbed to the Princster's short of an order.

She mentioned a stylish sportswear top I had acquired on a sale a couple of months back. I hesitated. You see, the shirt, is a bit too small for my size and the wear of it requires confidence of the highest degree, what with the overly amount of fat on top of my muscles (let's pretend I really do built some muscles with the blind workout program all these times).

"No, you look great on it." She said. So, I went on with it hoping that I won't run into people I know. Alas, it was only at the Rec entrance, when a person from my floor saw me.

After we safely stowed our belongings at the locker, NRB asked me to run at the track instead of on the threadmil. I said yes and on our way upstairs, we ran into you. My thought was "Gosh, darn it, why it had to be you."

"Hey..." I said. You acknowledged my presence coldly--I wonder if I should behave likewise to you, well, I've been until last night.

I followed the split second encounter by the stupidest proclamation, "You are so sweaty.."

There were better words to express my concern on you, you did drenched in too much sweat, your shirt was completely wet, even drops of sweat still dripped down from your hair. Of course, I am only an innocent girl, who didn't know how to present herself in an unfortunate situation like this, or anything else for that matter.

Anyway, I know I will regret jotting down this post. I just realized Sunday was last post and today is already Friday. So in the midst of the happenings of my life, I'm sorry you've been reduced to the choice of thing I wrote.